"Hmph, I believe it's you, the Master of Whisperers, who has been derelict in your duty."
Count Simon passed the buck without hesitation.
As the master of laws, he was responsible for the security of King's Landing on one hand and was the direct superior of the Commander of the City Watch on the other.
With such a major incident occurring, failing to shift the blame would be fatal.
Varys was choked with anger, his smile not reaching his eyes. "Lord Simon, whatever you have to say, you should save it for His Majesty."
The eunuch was not one to be trifled with.
Count Luthor had no patience for the farce and interrupted, "My Lords, rather than shirking responsibility, why don't we think of a solution?"
As a noble of valyrian descent, Count Luthor possessed the characteristic silver hair and blue eyes.
Being forty years old and in his prime, he possessed a natural air of majesty.
Count Simon said urgently, "This matter has too much impact, and many subjects have been affected. Why not send a letter to Dragonstone and ask Prince Rhaegar to return and take charge of the situation?"
"Lord Simon, are you an idiot?"
Count Chesd's expression changed; his words held no hint of discrimination, only a sincere inquiry directed at the mentally challenged.
The Crown Prince, Rhaegar!
Every single person present had, at some point, slandered Rhaegar before the King to curry favor.
If you bring Prince Rhaegar back...
Whether Prince Daeron would be in trouble was unknown.
But these men, recognized throughout the Seven Kingdoms as sycophants, would all be purged.
Count Simon realized his blunder and hung his head in frustration, rubbing his thinning hair with both hands.
In the end, Count Chesd and Count Luthor came up with a plan.
The former would report to the King and "smooth over" the situation.
The latter would cooperate with Prince Daeron to suppress the public outcry as quickly as possible.
Either way, it was just about arresting a group of criminals.
Although the methods were overly heartless, they were at least reasonable and legal.
As long as they silenced the noble lords whose "businesses" were affected and offered a few scapegoats to appease the commoners, major issues could be minimized, and minor ones quietly resolved.
The council adjourned.
Varys remained in his seat, sinking into self-doubt.
He was wondering if his actions in helping Prince Daeron were correct... The Tower of the Hand.
Daeron appeared here after washing up.
"Boy, look at what you've done."
Tywin spoke calmly.
There was no angry rebuke, nor was there any indifference.
He was merely stating the facts.
"You purged the vermin from the ranks of the Gold Cloaks, screened for qualified soldiers, and installed your own confidants. You did well in all of that."
"However, your mass arrests of criminals have alarmed the entire city, which will bring extremely unfavorable negative public opinion to your reputation."
The Hand remained clear-headed, rationally analyzing the pros and cons.
Seeing that Daeron did not respond, he stood up from his seat and asked, "What caused you to become so urgent and make such an irrational decision?"
Daeron remained silent, thinking to himself that the man's intuition was truly sharp.
Tywin did not press for answers, saying solemnly, "Then, tell me, boy."
"Do you need my help?"
Upon learning of the matter, he had urgently summoned him.
Even the Small Council meeting had been canceled.
After a short while.
Daeron left safely.
Tywin stared fixedly out the door, his palm resting on the desk unconsciously clenching and unclenching.
The other party had rejected his proposal.
It seemed he had calculated that he could suppress the matter himself.
"Is the dragon blood strong in him?"
Tywin's brow furrowed deeply.
Then, a surge of inexplicable jealousy rose in his heart.
Why did a fool like Aerys get to have such a son?
How hateful!
...Walking through the outer ward of The Red Keep, Daeron abandoned his plan to see his father.
The fact that his teacher, Tywin, had summoned him already indicated that there was no major problem.
Seeing his father now would not yield any useful help; it would only be counterproductive.
"Teacher is still as cunning as ever."
Daeron had read him perfectly.
From the beginning, the premise of their teacher-student relationship was that it was untainted by personal interest.
Once Tywin spoke...
Lannister's help would require a return.
For example, spending more time with Cersei, and when the time came, getting engaged to and marrying her.
Just as Rhaegar married Elia Martell to gain the support of all of Dorne.
If he married Cersei, he would also win the support of the entire Westerlands.
"A Lannister always pays his debts, but this price is far too high."
Daeron was no fool; he would not use his marriage as a bargaining chip just yet.
His unmarried status, and the background of his future spouse, would be the prerequisites determining whether the noble lords of the Seven Kingdoms valued him.
The Lannisters were ambitious.
Whereas the noble lords of the Riverlands, the Riverlands, and elsewhere naturally rejected the nobles of the Westerlands.
Knowing the course of history, Daeron decided that the targets to win over were in the Riverlands and Riverlands, where the most royal loyalists resided.
"Prince, I have some good news."
Count Owen met him head-on.
Daeron was startled and asked, "What good news?"
...The Mud Gate, the harbor.
Standing on the pier, Daeron saw a three-masted sailing ship full of the passage of time.
To put it plainly: it was dilapidated.
The large ship was seventeen or eighteen meters long, with a figurehead in the shape of a dragon's head. Despite the damage to the hull and deck, its former luxury and grandeur were still visible.
But... Daeron said, "My Lord, isn't this ship a bit too old and worn?"
Does it really have the capability to go to sea?
"Prince, rest assured."
Count Owen rubbed his hands like a fly and chuckled, "Since you last mentioned looking for a ship that can go to sea, I've been searching everywhere. I was even planning to fund the rental of a ship for you myself."
"Who would have thought that I would actually find this treasure in the royal treasury?"
"Treasure...?"
Daeron looked it over repeatedly and admitted he had a poor eye for such things.
Count Owen quickly said, "The materials and craftsmanship of this ship are excellent. According to historical records, it came from the distant Eastern Continent."
Whether it truly came from the Eastern Continent was unknown, but saying so made it seem very precious.
Fearing the Prince's suspicion, he explained the ship's origin.
The first owner of this ship was none other than King Viserys I on the eve of the Dance of the Dragons.
After King Viserys I's eldest daughter, Princess Rhaenyra, came of age, the King gave the ship to her, allowing her to sail across the Seven Kingdoms to find a suitable consort.
After the Dance of the Dragons ended, the ship was kept by the young "Dragonbane," Aegon III, to commemorate his late mother.
After more than a hundred years of twists and turns, it had survived to this day.
After hearing the ship's history, Daeron was silent for a moment.
"This ship... needs to be repaired, right?"
"Of course."
Count Owen nodded repeatedly, proud of himself for being able to dig up such a symbolic antique.
Even Lord Chesd, the master of coin, might not be as familiar with the treasury as he was.
Daeron asked, "How long will it take to repair?"
He was worried about his father's interference and wanted a ship to sail freely.
He didn't want to fail before he even began.
"Three days, at most three days."
Count Owen patted his chest in guarantee.
This ship came from the peak of the Targaryen dynasty; its materials and craftsmanship were exceptionally high.
Aside from some surface damage, key parts like the keel and masts were well-preserved.
With some repairs, it would still be a fine ship, superior to any in the Seven Kingdoms.
"I'll leave it to you."
Daeron shook his head, no longer doubting.
Sometimes he truly admired Count Owen; the man could always find good things that no one else noticed in piles of junk.
How could that not be considered a talent?
"Stop right there, smuggler!"
"..."
A sudden commotion broke his train of thought, and Daeron looked over curiously.
Several accompanying Gold Cloaks pulled out clubs and pinned down a middle-aged man dressed as a commoner.
Daeron hadn't intended to intervene, but he was drawn by the mention of a smuggler and a small black-sailed boat filled with onions and beef.
Taking a closer look.
The man had an ordinary appearance, a thin build, brown hair and eyes, and a thick gray beard.
He was eloquent and was currently defending himself in a polite manner.